


As Time Goes By

by Duck_Life



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few important moments between Peggy Carter and her favorite (only) niece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Time Goes By

It’s 1988 and Peggy’s spreading peanut butter over bread while balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “No, that’s- it’s _classified_ , Ange,” she says. “By definition, I can’t tell you anything about ‘how my day went.’” She waits, listens to an old friend rant over the other line. “But… okay, okay, there was this guy. Told me I might look into getting a facelift.”

More ranting, coupled with disbelieving laughter. “No, no, I didn’t fire him. He’s currently working a very important case undercover. We’ve got him living on the streets, infiltrating a local drug ring. See, he’s going after a powerful drug lord who’s bringing an experimental new substance into the country. He goes by the name of Yellow Walrus.” She pauses, spooning jelly onto the other slice of bread. “And he does not exist.”

Peggy waits, grinning as she listens to Angie laughing. “No, I mean, they’re not _all_ terrible. I met this agent-”

“DIE, HYDRA SCUM!”

“What was that?” Angie asks over the phone.

“I’m, ah, watching my niece for the day,” explains Peggy, finishing up the PB&J. “I have to go. I’ll call you back.” Dropping the phone back in its cradle, she hurries out to the backyard carrying the sandwich on a plate.

And there’s her brother’s kid, eight years old, shooting a water gun at a tree.

“Sharon?” she calls across the lawn, setting the plate down on the patio table. “Sharon, darling, what on earth are you doing?”

“Firing at Nazis,” she explains calmly, aiming her water gun once more at the trunk of the oak tree several feet away. “Like Captain America.”

Peggy opens her mouth, about to tell her that most kids her age would rather be play-acting Star Wars than World War II, but she stops herself. Sharon isn’t “most kids her age” any more than Peggy is most women her age.

“You’re holding it wrong,” she says instead, going behind her niece and kneeling so she’s level with the girl. “Here,” she explains, holding Sharon’s arms lower, readjusting the gun in her hands. “Like this. Try it now. Try hitting that knot in the center of the tree.”

Sharon fires and hits it on her first try. “Cool,” she breathes.

It’s 2004 and Peggy’s pointing her gun at the grayish silhouette on the far wall. “So is it like this in real life?” Sharon asks her, loudly because she’s wearing earmuffs.

“Yes, it’s exactly the same,” Peggy tells her, smirking. “A nondescript man stands perfectly still while you get endless tries to shoot him somewhere vital.”

Her niece rolls her eyes and turns to aim at her own target. As she watches Sharon shoot, hitting the wall twice but managing to get one bullet in range of the imaginary man’s chest, Peggy feels a little more secure in her decision to retire now. SHIELD has become a much, _much_ better environment for women, and she likes to think- no, she’s _sure_ of it- that it comes in part from her influence.

Yes, Peggy thinks as Sharon tries again and hits the middle of her target three times in a row, her niece is going to be fine. And she herself is going to be fine. Bored, maybe, but she’ll get through it.

Thinking back over the years of Sharon listening intently while Peggy recalled countless stories from her job, she thinks that maybe it’s Sharon’s turn to tell some stories, and her turn to listen.

It’s 2016 and Peggy’s hanging onto Sharon’s shaking hands.

For a long time, Sharon won’t even talk, she’s just letting the tears fall and trying to stop hyperventilating. She looks positively shattered. “I shouldn’t be here,” she says finally, glancing at the door like someone might run in right now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, they’re gonna find me here, I shouldn’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Peggy tells her, but she has no idea what’s going on. It’s just the thing to say, the thing she’s always said. “It’s okay,” she says, trying to sit up in her bed. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I…” Sharon starts. Her eyes cloud up like she’s reliving it, and she starts shaking even harder. “Oh, God… they were. They were taking him up the court steps. Steve. They were taking Steve up the court steps.”

Peggy isn’t too aware of everything that’s been going on with the superhero Civil War, but she knows enough for her gut to twist with trepidation. “Sharon, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I-I don’t know what happened, I was… I think something took control of me. Someone got inside my head, I don’t know how. I… I killed him. I shot Steve. I shot him _three goddamn times_.”

And then she’s sobbing, and it’s awful and broken and Peggy doesn’t have any idea of what to do. This isn’t a scraped knee or a bad breakup or anything she’s gotten Sharon through before, this is a dead man and a terrible weight. And she’s not the person she was, there are things she can’t remember, times she gets confused. Distantly, Peggy wonders if this time tomorrow she’ll still know that Steve Rogers is dead.

What she knows now is that something has gone wrong, that Sharon’s been used, that she’s been hurt. And on its most basic level, that’s something with which she knows how to deal.

Peggy pulls her niece onto the bed with her, cradles Sharon’s head against her shoulder, holds her until she stops shaking. 


End file.
